


Conspiracy at the Museum

by orphan_account



Series: Conspiracy at the Museum [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: 80s, And Gerard is trash, Crack, Crack Fic, Kinda, M/M, Night at the Musuem AU, Patrick isn't dead, Pete is confused, but enjoy, it's complicated - Freeform, museum, oh yeah, pLOT TWIST WAIT FOR IT, very weird, what do I tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-01 02:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6497413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>News Clipping; Chicago Times, May 6, 1984</em> </p><p> </p><p>  <em>"Following the disappearances of these three stars, the music industry is damaged forever. They will be presumed dead until proven otherwise. The Chicago Music Wax Museum received memorial statues from an unknown artist to be displayed this Saturday..."</em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Okay, Pete didn't mean for this to happen. All he did was try and look at the amulet the wax statue was wearing because it looked like his, and now he has to take care of an 80s jazz star who's been missing, presumed dead, for 32 years, doesn't understand texting and thinks 2009 Toyota Corollas are the best thing since sliced bread. </p><p>But when he and his friends look further, they find out it's not just one person. There's a conspiracy that's been right under their noses the whole time, and now they need to find out who's behind it...(cliche) </p><p> <em>News Clipping; Chicago Times, April 10, 2016</em></p><p> <em>"Breaking news, music lovers...only ten days before the anniversary of his disappearance, the Patrick Stump statue at the Chicago Music Wax Museum has disappeared..."</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: the Chicago Music Wax Museum does not exist and was made up for plot purposes only. Unless it does. Then I'm psychic. 
> 
> This is the first time I've had a whole fic plot planned before I wrote it so WOW
> 
> It'll be great, trust me. 
> 
> I'm on a cruise and I still have one more day of nothing so I'll probably have up to chapter three at least written by Monday so I'll probably post then. 
> 
> Enjoy this totally cracked-out but hopefully well-written fic.

"Oh, fuck Mikey." Pete muttered. "I mean, I knew I'd lose that bet, no one beats Mikey Way at a drinking game, but really, I thought I'd be fine. Somehow." He sighed. "Now I'm in a wax museum at night. At least it's a music museum, right?"

He looked up. "Yep, I'm talking to a wax statue of David Bowie. I may be still slightly drunk from yesterday."

Pete left wax Bowie and continued through the museum. He was lucky he was even in here at night. It'd taken knowing the night guard to get in. ("C'mon, Andy, I'm paying for it! That new vegan place seems...vegan. It'll only take thirty minutes. I'll keep watch. No one'll steal anything. Okay, thanks!") But wax museums at night were not fun. 

Pete shone his flashlight along the halls he passed. Rock, punk, country, and blues all passed by. Pete liked the design of this place. Areas were divided by genre halls, then inside by instrument. He passed classical and then reached his destination. He could never come here without visiting his favorite musician ever. Well, the wax statue of his favorite musician ever. Close enough. 

Pete swore he heard a noise and spun around, shining his light everywhere. But, of course, the place was empty. Even then, he wrapped his free hand around the amulet he always wore around his neck. It was a forest green stone about the size of a quarter on a golden chain, and he'd found it in a field one day. It comforted him somehow, even though it looked like cheap plastic. 

He shone his light up onto the sign above the door way in front of him. The Hall of Jazz. He smiled. He practically lived here. The dark emptiness somehow got less scary. 

He strolled in and shone his light around. This hall had almost as many different sections as Classical, but not quite as many. His light landed on the one he wanted. Singers. Pete grinned and headed inside. 

Inside, he shone his light past statue after statue until it landed on his favorite. His face fell as he saw the flowers at the base of the exhibit. He'd expected that; this one was more of a memorial to a (at least supposed) dead musician. But seeing the flowers still made him sad. 

Pete deposited his own flower, a blue carnation, because he still wanted to show respect. He looked up at the statue, looming over him in the dark. 

"Hey dude." Pete said, not caring he was talking to a wax statue. "Did they say 'dude' in the 80s? Probably. What was '84 like? I wonder if you'd've liked '85. Too bad you never got to see it." He sighed. "It must've sucked to disappear a week before your birthday, too. You were going to be 23. You know, I'm 23. If I lived back then, we could've been friends."

Pete looked down at the plate in front of the statue and read it aloud, even though he'd memorized it at this point. "Patrick Stump. 1961-Unknown. Patrick rose to fame after an agent discovered him in a jazz club in his hometown of Chicago when he was only 17. After almost six years of fame in not only jazz circles, but the rest of the music industry, he disappeared on April 20, 1984, never to be seen again. Two other musicians disappeared in the next two weeks. Today, this mystery is still unsolved, though many people claim these stars aren't dead. His family is wiped out, as his entire immediate family committed mass suicide after his death." Pete shivered and looked back up at the statue, shining his light on the wax features. "I don't think you're dead. You're too cool to have died young, right?" He laughed sadly. "Here I am in a dark museum, talking to a wax statue of some singer who's been gone for over 30 years. New low for me." 

Pete shined the light down the statue, then stopped. Something was shining under the black vest the statue was wearing. Something green. 

"Is that...my amulet?" Pete asked no one in particular, staring at the green jewel beneath the vest. "No way!"

He reached out to look at the shining green jewel (hey, no one was here, he could touch the exhibit if he wanted), and as his hand brushed the statue's neck...it _moved_. 

"Ah!" The statue screamed and fell forward, tripping over the velvet ropes guarding the exhibit. It crashed into Pete, and they both tumbled backwards. 

"What the fuck!" Pete yelled. "Who are you? What are you doing? Are you _alive_?"

"Um." The statue (was it a statue?) looked around. "My name's Patrick and...I really don't know what's going on. Where am I? Last thing I remember, someone drugged and kidnapped me. That sounds worse than it is, I swear."

"Wait. You're Patrick as in Patrick Stump?" Pete gaped. "Like, actually?"

"Yes. Hi. Nice to meet you." Patrick stood up and looked around like that was nothing. "But _where am I_?"

"This is the Chicago Music Wax Museum." Pete answered automatically. "We're in the jazz singers hall. Um. How are you alive?"

"Oh, nice. I'm a jazz singer!" Patrick smiled and Pete rolled his eyes. "But...what do you mean, 'how are you alive?' I'm just alive."

"I hate to break this to you, but..." Pete sighed. "It's 2016, and everyone's thought you were dead for 30 years."

"What?" Patrick looked around. "No. That can't be right. I know...I know someone kidnapped me or something, but...no, if that's right, it's been..."

"32 years, yeah." Pete nodded. He was having trouble maintaining calm, because his favorite _presumed dead_ singer ever was in front of him, looking as confused as he was. 

"Oh." Patrick took a deep breath. "Okay. Right. So. I've been missing for 32 years. Sure. But wouldn't I be..." He looked down at himself and picked at his vest. "Old? How'd I even get here?"

"Well." Pete bit the inside of his cheek. "This is a wax museum, and...you were one of the exhibits."

"I was _what_?" Patrick gasped. 

Pete nodded. "Um, yeah. Look behind you."

Patrick turned around and saw the now-empty exhibit where he'd been before Pete had somehow woken him up. How had that happened, anyway?

Patrick walked over to the exhibit and stared at his name emblazoned on the wall behind where he had been standing. "Oh. Wow. Okay. Yep, I think I'll freak out now." 

"Yeah, you do that." Pete took a deep breath. Then his phone rang. "Oh, let me get that."

He pulled out his iPhone and looked at the caller ID. It was Andy. 

"What is _that_?" Patrick asked, staring at Pete's phone. 

"It's my phone?" Pete replied, confused. 

"That's a phone?" Patrick looked amazed. 

"Oh, right. You didn't have iPhones in the 80s." Pete sighed. "Right. You're from the 80s. This might be more confusing than I thought. Just. Let me answer this."

Patrick nodded, still in awe. 

Pete answered the call. "Heyyy, Andy."

"You sound guilty. What did you do?" Andy asked. 

"Nothing. I'm not guilty. No one's robbed anything yet." Pete replied. 

"Yet?" Andy asked, and Pete could practically hear his eyebrow raise. 

"No one will steal anything. It's fine." Pete told him. "So. Coming back soon?"

"Yes. I called to say I'll be gone fifteen more minutes." Andy said. "This place is great, thanks for the idea. And for paying. And for guarding the museum while I'm gone."

"Yeah. Guarding. I've got it." Pete said, hoping he didn't sound too guilty. "I'm heading home now. It'll be fine for fifteen minutes, right?"

"Yeah, all good." Andy replied. "See you soon. Bye."

"Bye." Pete hung up and put his phone back on his coat pocket. 

"Okay. That's a phone. Why is it so small and rectangular? How does that work? Why do phones need a screen? What?" Patrick rushed out as soon as Pete put the phone down. 

"You don't even know what texting is, do you?" Pete sighed. 

"Tex-what?" Patrick asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"Right. Okay." Pete pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm taking you to my apartment. It's only three blocks, it'll be fine. And here." Pete took off his coat and gave it to Patrick. "Some sort of disguise. If someone recognized you, this could get bad fast."

"Okay." Patrick nodded, and put on the coat. "Ooh, this is shiny."

Pete rolled his eyes. "Welcome to the 21st century. Our coats are warmer. And shinier, I guess."

Patrick grinned. "Ooh, this is so cool." 

"Sure." Pete sighed. "So cool. Right. Follow me."

He walked out of the hall and headed towards the exit, and Patrick followed, staring at every little thing and asking if everything looked like this in 2016. 

Pete opened the door and reminded Patrick to keep his head down, because they certainly wouldn't want him to get recognized. 

Pete's favorite singer who'd disappeared in the 80s was now in front of him, proclaiming his love of some tan 2009 Toyota Corolla and how "modern" it looked. This was not how all Pete's dreams of meeting him had gone at all. 

Pete sighed and walked on, pulling Patrick along with him. 

All of this was crazy. All of it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically a filler chapter in which Pete's connections to other characters are explained further and Patrick discovers Netflix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler, but good filler, I swear
> 
> I didn't expect to update again today anyway, so. 
> 
> The plot will really pick up next chapter ay

"Is that a _television_?" Patrick asked as soon as they got into Pete's apartment. 

"What? Yes, it is." Pete sighed. "Stop staring at it."

"But it's so _flat_!" Patrick insisted, not taking his eyes off the TV. 

"It's a flat screen TV. Yes, it's flat." Pete rolled his eyes. 

"How do they fit all the parts in there?" Patrick asked, reaching out slowly to touch the TV, then jumping back when he touched it, as if he expected it to become sentient and attack him. Actually, that was probably exactly what he expected. 

"Why the fuck would I know?" Pete shrugged. "Somehow they do."

"Wow." Patrick breathed out, then noticed Pete's MacBook and freaked out again. "What's that one?"

"That's a laptop." Pete sighed. "It's a computer. If you ask me how they fit it all in there one more time, I swear I will throw you out onto the streets."

"No you won't." Patrick turned to Pete. 

"Why not?" Pete asked, crossing his arms. 

"Because you have every single album I've ever made on CD and record." Patrick answered, gesturing to the top shelf of Pete's music collection, which was reserved for Patrick Stump only, and wow, the real Patrick Stump was standing in his living room, and yeah, Pete was pretty amazed. "I think you're secretly relishing my presence and you would never get rid of me."

"Okay, yeah." Pete sighed. "You're right, I wouldn't. But I might think about it."

Patrick laughed, then his face turned serious. "Hey. Um."

Pete straightened up. "No, I've never had any extremely gay fantasies about you, what are you talking about?"

"I...wasn't going to ask that, but that was a lie." Patrick rolled his eyes. "No I was going to say I don't even know your name."

"Oh." Pete nodded slowly. "Aha. Yes. Forget I said that then. My name's Pete." 

"Well then, nice to meet you Pete." Patrick smiled. "Do people still shake hands in 2016?"

"Yeah, but not as often." Pete answered, smiling back. 

"Okay, so I won't then." Patrick nodded. 

Pete's phone rang. He looked down at it. "Oh, hang on."

Patrick was captivated by the iPhone again, so Pete just answered it. "Hi Andy."

"Pete. What did you do?" Andy said angrily. 

"Oh. Nothing. Why." Pete answered, knowing he sounded guilty as fuck. 

"Because we're missing an exhibit, and I had you on duty." Andy hissed. "Pete. Did you take the statue?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Pete replied, hoping he didn't sound too guilty. 

"Your favorite exhibit is missing and I let you in! You seem to be the one to blame!" Andy yelled. 

"Right. So. I did not steal a statue. Technically." Pete said. 

"Oh, what, it came to life and left with you?" Andy asked angrily. 

"Well, actually, yes?" Pete replied nervously. 

"I'm checking the security footage, Pete. If you stole it, then I _will_ have you arrested." Andy told him very seriously. 

"I swear! I'm not kidding!" Pete yelled, and the line simply went dead. He sighed. Now one of his best friends thought he was crazy. Great. 

"Who was that?" Patrick asked. Pete turned and saw that he had moved and was now sitting on the old leather couch.

"Andy. He's my friend." Pete sighed. "I bribed him with vegan food to let me into the museum tonight after hours because I lost a drinking game with my ex-boyfriend, and oh god, that sentence went downhill fast."

"Oh, you're gay?" Patrick said casually, picking up the TV remote and inspecting it. 

Pete looked up, startled. "Um. Yes. Why?"

Patrick looked up from the remote. "What? Is that still a problem now? I would've thought we would all stop being such close-minded idiots in the future."

Pete laughed. "Oh, there are still close-minded idiots and there probably always will be, but no, it's not such a big deal anymore. Um." He looked over at Patrick. 

"What?" Patrick raised an eyebrow, then he nodded slowly and his mouth formed a perfect 'o'. "Oh. You're wondering if I'm-oh. Yes. For the record. Yes, I am."

"Wait. Really?" Pete cocked his head to the side. "I mean, I've researched you a lot, because I may have a slight obsession problem, and sure, there were rumors, but- _really_?"

Patrick rolled his eyes. "Yes, really. Calm down. You're freaking out. Hyperventilating."

Pete took a deep breath. "Sorry. I'm acting like a teenage fangirl over here. It's not a big deal. It shouldn't be a big deal."

Patrick frowned. "What's a fangirl?"

"Oh boy." Pete laughed. "I need to explain a few things to you. Like tumblr. And-oh, you totally need to see Netflix."

"Net-what?" Patrick asked. 

Pete grinned. 

~*~ 

It was now 6 am, and they hadn't slept all night. First, Pete had shown Patrick Netflix, and Patrick had become fascinated with The Walking Dead ("But it looks so real! You're saying that's all just _special effects_?"), and discovered modern Doctor Who ("I grew up with this! It's still going? I mean, it's still super cheesy-looking, but better cheesy-looking."), but Pete had to stop him when he got into Supernatural and asked if Jensen Ackles was single. ("Are you withholding famous hot guys from me, Pete? That's probably illegal.")

Then they journeyed into YouTube, which lasted fairly long, as Patrick became infatuated with every single playthrough of The Stanley Parable ever. It started with jacksepticeye, then spiraled on from there ("But it's such a good game! Are all video games this good in 2016? The plot is amaizing, and don't get me started on the graphics! How?"). Then he discovered Buzzfeed, and then all of the gay humor videos on Buzzfeed, and Pete needed to stop that before it started. ("Is it seriously widely acceptable to put these up? That's awesome!")

Now they were back to Netflix because Pete had suggested Psych, and Patrick loved it. 

"Y'know, I think I'll marry Shawn." Patrick announced, chewing on a tortilla chip from a bowl Pete had gotten out earlier. 

"Yeah? Why Shawn?" Pete asked, taking a chip for himself. 

"Because he's hot, no offense to Gus, and he seems more gay." Patrick answered, nodding as if to agree with himself. 

"Patrick, half the show is him hitting on women." Pete rolled his eyes. 

"Closet case." Patrick said decisively, then the two looked at each other and burst into laughter. 

"It's so much fun to hang out with you." Pete said, sighing happily. "I don't even care that I haven't slept for two days."

"I can't believe how far the world has come." Patrick said, still sort of looking at the TV like it was about to attack him. 

"Honestly, me neither." Pete smiled. "And I was here for all of it." 

Pete's phone rang, stopping their not-so-meaningful conversation. He picked it up without looking. "Hello?"

"Pete. I know he said to go in at night, but I swear Mikey never said to _steal an exhibit_." The person on the other line said. 

"Oh, hey Gerard." Pete sighed. "First of all, I didn't steal an exhibit, so stop. Did Andy tell everyone that? And secondly, you know your brother. He could've said to steal an exhibit."

Pete could practically hear Gerard roll his eyes. "Yeah, you have a point. He'd do that. I swear, he doesn't really hate you, he just acts like it-"

"Okay. Stop right there." Pete pinched the bridge of his nose. "I broke up with him, and he's salty about it, I get it. But always bringing it up doesn't help. Do you do that at dinner with your family. 'Oh, hey bro, remember your ex? Let's talk about how you hate him now.' Do you do that? I think you do."

Gerard groaned. "No. I don't, for the record. And you changed the subject. A statue disappeared on your watch. I'm convinced you stole it. And my brother may or may not be behind that."

"Okay, I never stole a statue." Pete sighed. "Swear on my gayness, dude."

Patrick gave him a "did you really just say that is that socially acceptable now what" look and Pete rolled his eyes. 

"That's a serious thing to swear on." Gerard replied. "But it sounds like there's more. So. 'I never stole a statue, but...' what? But you helped steal it? But you stole a billion dollars?"

"But..." Pete looked at Patrick. "But I did steal a person."

"Okay, you offered to let me stay with you and I agreed, that's not stealing." Patrick said, rolling his eyes. 

"Shut up." Pete whispered. 

"What do you mean? Who's talking to you?" Gerard asked. "If you didn't, who stole the statue?"

"I'm not saying that wasn't me, okay? I'm saying I didn't steal a statue. It's...complicated." Pete sighed. 

"Complicated, is it?" Gerard asked. "That's what you said when I asked if you fucked my brother. And that didn't end well. So please just tell me what you did."

"Come over to my apartment. I can't really explain this one on the phone." Pete said, then added, "Oh, and you can bring Mikey."

"Fine. But you better not be lying." Gerard said, and hung up. 

Pete put his phone down. "Well. Now my ex and his brother are on their way over and I am totally fucked."

"Another gay person?" Patrick grinned. 

"Oh my god, you're loving this, aren't you?" Pete rolled his eyes. "Yes. _Two_."

"What? They're both gay? That's a lot of gay." Patrick frowned as if he was calculating the amount of gay or something. 

"Yeah. Tons of gay. We flock together." Pete joked, and Patrick laughed. 

"So. How long until they're here?" He asked. 

"Ten minutes?" Pete replied. "Want to clean up the Netflix marathon mess with me?"

"Yeah, sure." Patrick nodded, throwing his blanket back over the back of the sofa. "Can't wait to meet more of your gay friends."

"Patrick?" Pete sighed. 

"Yeah?" Patrick looked over at Pete. 

"All my friends are gay."

" _What_?" Patrick gaped. " _All of them_?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is gay


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot starts to pick up as the crew returns to the museum and Patrick has discovered fanfiction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have chapter 4 already written and I'm working on chapter 5 (introducing like 3 new characters!) so here's chapter 3
> 
> I have a 4 hour plane flight tomorrow so I'll write a lot then
> 
> Enjoy!

Pete threw the last empty snack bowl haphazardly into the sink and grinned. "Okay, done. Netflix marathon mess is cleaned."

"While you were doing that, I discovered Google!" Patrick called from the living room. 

"Didn't you have that in the 80s?" Pete asked, strolling into the living room. 

"I think? But not like this!" Patrick looked up at Pete, drumming his fingers on Pete's MacBook. "I also discovered search history. Yours is all for naked pictures of some guy named Misha Collins, so I looked him up, and one thing led to another, and now I'm reading fanfiction."

"Oh my god." Pete groaned. "You've been in the 21st century less than a day and you've already discovered fandoms. Please tell me that's G-rated." 

Patrick blinked innocently. "Okay. This is G-rated."

"I can see it from here, that's a sex scene. I'm taking that." Pete frowned and pulled the laptop off Patrick's lap. "No more destiel fanfiction for you." 

"Oh, fuck you." Patrick huffed and crossed his arms. 

"That's the first time you've sworn since I met you." Pete commented, closing his laptop and setting it aside. 

"Yeah, because we're friends now." Patrick shrugged. "I only swear around my friends."

"Excuse me for a moment." Pete said, then turned around and whispered excitedly, "He said in his friend, oh my god, I'm his friend, I need a moment." He took a deep breath, and turned back around. "Right. Okay."

Patrick had moved, and was now looking out the window at the just barely risen sun and smiling. "It's so nice out there. Chicago has grown."

Pete was about to reply when the light caught the amulet around Patrick's neck, and Pete was reminded of how this had started in this first place; when he'd tried to touch it and Patrick had come alive and fallen on him. Pete stroked his own amulet. Could the amulets have something to do with this?

"Hey, Patrick?" He called, and Patrick turned. 

"Yes?" He replied. 

"Where'd you get that amulet?" Pete asked. 

Patrick frowned and looked down at his neck. "What amu-oh." He poked at it. "Okay, this isn't mine. No idea where it's from." 

"Huh. Okay." Pete nodded. "Makes sense, I guess."

Patrick started to take it off, but Pete ran over and stopped him. "No, no, I don't think that's a good idea. Seriously."

Patrick looked up and raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Because I think that's the reason we're in this mess in the first place." Pete said. "Here, see? I've got one too." He reached under his shirt and lifted his amulet up. Patrick stared at it. "I kept wondering, earlier, after 32 years in that museum, why now? Why is it me? Why are you alive _now_ of all times? And now I realize. It's probably the amulets."

"Oh. Whoa." Patrick looked down at his again. "Okay. Taking it off may be a bad idea then."

Pete nodded. 

Then there was a knock on the door. "Hey, Pete! I'm sorry we're late! Mikey didn't want to come at first because he was suspicious of you actually inviting him, and he thinks you're going to get back together with him or something? But anyway! We're here!"

Pete facepalmed. "Oh my god."

"Well, were you going to get back together with him?" Patrick asked. 

"No!" Pete sighed as loudly and dramatically as he could. "Listen, Mikey's a great friend, but dating him was not a good idea, okay? I'd rather get together with someone I've known for a day than get back together with him."

"So..." Patrick said slowly. "You're saying you'd rather date me than him?" 

Pete bit his lip. "I-technically, yes, but that's not what I meant-well, yeah? Why?"

Patrick laughed. "What? Problem?"

Pete sighed. "I'm going to answer the door. For the record, yes, I would rather date you than Mikey. But that doesn't mean _anything_ , okay? Mikey's just a jerk when you date him."

Patrick shrugged. "Okay. I didn't say it meant anything." Then he winked. "Unless you want it to."

Pete took a deep breath. "Alright, I am opening this door, and ignoring you, and you will sit on that couch and let me try to explain this to my friends." Pete whispered the next part. "And I will pretend that my favorite singer ever did not just hit on me." 

"Okay." Patrick went and sat on the couch, suddenly becoming interested in the remote again, and seeming to be trying to figure out what every single button did even though the TV was still off. 

Pete reached out and opened the door to see Gerard standing there, with Mikey standing angrily (yes, _standing_ angrily, somehow he managed that) behind him. 

"Hey, guys." Pete said, waving awkwardly. 

"Who were you talking to in there?" Gerard asked immediately. 

"Well-" Pete began, but was interrupted by the TV turning on. 

"Hey!" Patrick yelled from the couch. "The circle with the line turns it on!"

Pete took a deep breath and let it out. "I was talking to him." Then he turned and yelled, "Yeah, that's the power button! Seriously, have you never seen that symbol?"

"No!" Patrick called back. "So that button universally means 'turn on'?"

"Yeah, and if you press it again it turns off!" Pete replied, hearing Patrick gasp and the TV turn off as he said that. He turned back to Gerard and Mikey. "Sorry about that. He's fascinated by the TV."

Gerard raised an eyebrow. "Who's that, why does he sound familiar, and why does he not understand on/off buttons?"

"Did you drag me here to see you're replacing me already?" Mikey asked, crossing his arms. "Because frankly, I'm not jealous."

"He is _not_ my boyfriend." Pete hissed. "And I broke up with you three months ago, what do you mean already?"

Mikey huffed and glared. 

"Alright you two, break it up." Gerard sighed. "No, but really, Pete, who's your friend?"

Pete sighed. "Come in." 

He led them in, and Gerard closed the door after Mikey got in. 

"Hey, Patrick?" Pete called out. "Come meet my friends."

Patrick turned around and dropped the remote onto the couch. "Oh, hi Pete's friends."

Pete swore Gerard's jaw dropped to the floor. "No. Way."

Pete snickered and Gerard glared at him. 

"Really, if you're going to laugh every time I say 'way', we're going to have friendship troubles." He said. Then he turned to Patrick. "Okay, but more importantly. Why is there a dead singer on your couch?"

"I'm not dead!" Patrick called from the couch. 

Gerard took a deep breath. "Pete. Why is Patrick Stump, a singer who has been missing for thirty-two years, on your couch figuring out a TV?" 

"Okay, first of all, none of this would've happened if I hadn't lost that drinking game to Mikey." Pete said, and Mikey rolled his eyes. "He made me go into the museum at night, and so I went to Patrick Stump exhibit because it's my favorite, right? And he was wearing my amulet and so I went to touch it and now he's alive and on my couch." 

Gerard nodded slowly. "Okay. Right. Got it. But does that mean the Patrick Stump statue in the museum was the real Patrick Stump the whole time?" 

"Yeah, pretty much." Pete nodded. 

"Well, I'm leaving." Mikey said. "This is officially too weird. Gerard, I'm taking the car. I'll be at home if you need me."

With that, he turned and walked back towards the exit. 

"Well, there goes Mikey." Gerard sighed. "With our car."

"As he does." Pete rolled his eyes. 

"Um, Pete?" Patrick called from the couch. 

"Yes?" Pete turned. 

"Okay, I stole your laptop again, don't be mad, but. Look at this." Patrick replied. 

"Tell me it isn't more fanfiction." Pete sighed. 

"He was reading fanfiction?" Gerard asked. 

"It's not fanfiction." Patrick said. "Just look."

Pete came over and looked at what Patrick was showing him. It was an online news article...on the museum robbery. 

"Oh god." Pete bit his lip. "Oh god, I've committed mass theft, haven't I?"

"Pete. _I left with you_." Patrick said. "That's not theft."

"This is weird." Gerard said. "Really weird." 

"Tell me about it." Pete sighed. 

"No, but." Patrick pointed at the article. "There were other disappearances? After me?"

"Yeah, two. Why?" Pete asked. 

"Because then wouldn't they all be connected?" Patrick replied. "And wouldn't the other people who disappeared be in the museum too?"

"Oh!" Pete gasped. "Oh, they would! You're right!"

"Well." Gerard said. "I guess we know where we're going."

"Hey, are you okay going back there?" Pete asked Patrick. 

"Yeah, of course!" Patrick said, getting off the couch. "Let's do this!"

~*~

"Keep. The hood on." Pete whispered to Patrick. He and Gerard had spent five minutes showing Patrick how to wear a hoodie, because the museum was the most likely place for someone to recognize him, and he refused to keep the hood on. 

"Fine." Patrick huffed and pulled the hood back over his head. It had also taken a while to coax him into taking off his fedora, which he was not happy about doing. 

"Okay. I'm buying tickets because my brother got us into this mess and I'm therefore slightly responsible." Gerard said, reaching the ticket booth and buying three tickets for them. 

"We're in." Pete whispered, acting like he was in a spy movie, and Patrick laughed. 

"You two better not be kissing back there." Gerard said, turning to face then and hand them their tickets. 

Pete frowned. "Shut up."

Patrick winked at him and Pete pushed him. Patrick just laughed. 

Gerard smirked. "I ship it."

Pete pushed him too. 

They made their way inside, and Gerard turned to Pete. "Alright, where are we heading?"

"80s pop." Pete answered. "Singers." 

"Got it. That's right by the entrance." Gerard said, and led the to a large, colorful doorway. "Here. Singers is the furthest left, I believe."

"Are you not coming in?" Pete asked. 

"Oh, fine, I'll-" Gerard began, but he was cut off. 

"Pete!" 

Pete turned and saw Andy running at him, looking angry. 

"Oh boy." Pete muttered. 

"Returning to the scene of the crime, are we?" Andy asked when he reached the small group. 

"Andy, I told you, I didn't steal anything!" Pete insisted. 

Andy sighed. "I know. See, I checked the security footage."

Pete gulped. He saw Patrick tense up behind him. Gerard pretended he wasn't with them. 

"Oh. You did?" Pete asked. 

"Yeah, and." Andy sighed. "Do you need help with something? You're back here for a reason, right? I have no idea what's going on, but I feel like I should help."

"Oh. Okay." Pete nodded. "Honestly, we don't know either. Actually...could you empty this area for a few minutes? And is there a back door out of 80s pop singers?"

"Yes, and yes, why?" Andy asked. 

"We need to commit another robbery." Pete replied. 

"Okay, no, I'm not doing anything illegal!" Patrick spoke up suddenly. 

Andy turned to him. "Oh. Hi. Nice to meet you. Big fan. Don't worry, it's not illegal if they don't catch you. And right now, I'm 'they'. It's all good." 

Patrick nodded slowly. "Okay. Sure."

Pete grinned. "Follow me."

He led his friends into the 80s pop singers hall, and they strolled down the hall. Then the PA crackled on. 

"Everyone, please clear out of the 80s pop singers hall for a routine cleaning. Thank you, sorry for the inconvenience." Andy said over the PA. 

Pete grinned. "And we're clear."

People streamed out of the hall, and Pete grabbed Patrick's arm and pulled him inside, with Gerard on their heels. 

Inside the hall, Pete walked past exhibit after exhibit, then reached the one he wanted. 

"Here we are." He announced. 

"Brendon Urie?" Patrick asked, looking at the statue that maybe wasn't a statue. "No way! We were great friends! He got kidnapped?"

Pete nodded. 

"Yeah." Gerard said. "Two weeks after you."

"Huh." Patrick said quietly. 

Pete looked at the statue. "Huh. I don't think there's an amulet anywhere."

"An amulet?" Gerard asked. "What?"

"Oh, yeah." Pete turned to Gerard and pulled his out and saw Patrick doing the same behind him. "We think these have something to do with why I of all people woke up Patrick."

Patrick nodded behind him. 

"Alright, so maybe we were wrong. Maybe that's not really Brendon." Patrick sighed and looked down. 

"No!" Gerard cried out. 

"What?" Patrick looked up.

Pete raised an eyebrow. 

"Look! At his hand!" Gerard pointed at Brendon's right hand, and Pete saw what he was looking at. A small golden band with a single bright red, round jewel on it sat on the middle finger. It looked like cheap plastic, just like the amulets. 

"Okay. So that ring is something. But I think we need another ring to wake him up then, right?" Patrick asked, looking over at Gerard. 

"Guys!" Pete grinned, and Patrick and Gerard looked at him. "I've seen that ring before!"

"Okay, where?" Gerard asked. 

"We have a friend to visit." Pete declared, then he glanced back at the exhibit and asked, "We can carry him for ten blocks if we all help, right?"

Gerard and Patrick groaned and glared at Pete. 

Pete sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, Patrick isn't done with fanfiction yet
> 
> Stop me


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brendon is gay and Ryan wants to be out of here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait to upload this tomorrow but hell, why not
> 
> Here: a chapter that entirely takes place on Ryan's front porch.

"What the fuck. Pete, why are you here with Gerard, and who's in the hoodie? Is that a wax statue or a dead body? What. The. Fuck."

"Heyyyy Ryan." Pete said slowly. "You don't happen to still have that cheap-looking ring with the red jewel, do you?"

Ryan frowned and lifted up his hand. The aforementioned ring glimmered on his middle finger. "Yeah, but you never answered any of my questions."

Pete sighed. "Okay, so Gerard and I are here because we need your help, the guy in the hoodie is Patrick Stump, and no, I'm not kidding, and we may have robbed the wax museum."

"I-what?" Ryan raised an eyebrow. "What the fuck?"

Gerard thrust Brendon at Ryan. "Touch it."

"What? Why?" Ryan looked over at Gerard. 

"Touch. Him." Patrick spoke up, glaring from under the hood. 

"Okay, Hoodie Guy, stop." Ryan said. "There's no way you're actually Patrick Stump, so who are you?"

Patrick rolled his eyes and pushed off his hood. "Hi."

Ryan gaped. "Oh. Okay. You actually weren't kidding. How are you even alive? Okay, don't answer that, just-"

"Touch. Brendon." Pete interrupted him. 

"Um." Ryan raised an eyebrow. "You stole a wax statue of my favorite singer from the museum so I could touch it?"

"It's not a wax statue and you need to touch him. Now." Gerard said. 

Ryan sighed. "Okay. Fine. But I swear, you're insane."

He reached out and tapped Brendon's arm. "See? Nothing hap-ah!"

Suddenly Brendon tumbled forward onto Ryan, and they both landed on Ryan's porch, with Brendon holding himself just over Ryan with his elbows. 

"I don't know where I am or how I got here, but I landed on a hot guy so it's all good in my mind." Brendon announced, and winked at Ryan, smiling. 

Ryan turned bright red. "Oh. Oh god. Okay. Getting out now. Getting away." 

He pulled himself out from under Brendon and looked to Gerard, Pete, and Patrick, then back to Brendon, and said, "Okay, what the fuck is going on?"

"Magic, probably." Gerard said. 

Brendon turned to everyone else and sat up. "Woah, wait. Patrick? Dude, I haven't seen you in forever! Didn't you get kidnapped?"

"Yeah, I did. So did you. And it's been longer than you think." Patrick commented dryly. 

"No, but really, where am I?" Brendon asked, looking around and taking in his surroundings. "This doesn't look like Chicago. I was in Chicago. I think."

"Nope, it's Chicago." Pete sighed. 

"Really? It looks so..." Brendon looked around again. "Futuristic."

Pete rolled his eyes. Sure, Ryan lived downtown, but he wouldn't describe the area as "futuristic" at all. But, then again, to someone who'd just arrived here from the 80s, it probably did look pretty futuristic. 

"That's because it's the future." Patrick spoke up. "Welcome to 2016. Did you know they write stories about TV shows now?"

Gerard and Pete shared a look that meant something like "did he really just bring up fanfiction again?". 

"Whoa. Really?" Brendon stood up and looked around another time, for some reason. "How, though? That's impossible!"

"Yeah, so." Patrick rubbed his arm awkwardly. "We...were kind of exhibits in a wax museum for thirty-two years. Or something."

"Whoa." Brendon gaped. "Seriously?"

"Yep." Pete answered, nodding. "Seriously."

"And you are...?" Brendon asked, turning to face him. 

"I'm Pete, and this is my friend Gerard." Pete answered. Gerard waved. 

"Oh, nice to meet you!" Brendon grinned. "You future people seem nice."

"Okay, don't call us future people." Gerard said. "Just. Don't."

Brendon shrugged. "Okay, so. If we were, somehow, in that museum for thirty-two years, why are we not anymore?"

"Magic jewelry, I think?" Patrick answered. 

"Yeah." Pete nodded, holding up his amulet. Patrick got the cue and held up his own. "Oh, right, look at your right hand." 

Brendon looked down at his hand, seeing the ring. "Ooh, pretty!"

He started to take it off, but Patrick reached out and stopped him. "You don't want to do that."

Brendon looked up. "What happens if I do?"

"We don't know." Pete replied. "But if something about the jewels is keeping you and Patrick alive, we don't want to go taking them off."

"Wait." Brendon looked back to the ring. "If Patrick is alive because Pete has that amulet, then who has the other ring? Who saved _me?_ " 

Pete smirked and pointed at Ryan. Patrick giggled. Gerard clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter.

Ryan put up his hands as if to surrender. "Hey. I didn't even mean to."

Brendon turned to Ryan and grinned. "Oh, the incredibly hot guy saved me? Awesome!"

Ryan flushed again. "Okay. Stop. I really didn't mean to save you, I swear!"

"Thanks, incredibly hot guy!" Brendon exclaimed, and then promptly kissed Ryan. 

Gerard gasped. Patrick laughed. Pete quickly took a picture with his phone. 

Ryan jumped back, eyes wide. "My name is Ryan! Stop calling me that!"

"Oh. Okay!" Brendon grinned. "Then thanks, Ryan!" He moved forward and Ryan pushed him back. 

"Nope!" He said, shaking his head. "No more kissing! Once was enough, I feel thanked!"

Brendon frowned. "Aw, come on!" He turned back to Gerard, Pete, and Patrick. "Can he do that? Can he refuse my love like this? Is that illegal in the future or something?"

"You just met me!" Ryan exclaimed, throwing his hands up exasperatedly. 

Pete and Patrick shared a look and burst into laughter. 

Gerard smirked. "Yeah, I think he can't do that."

"Gerard!" Ryan yelled. "Stop! Maybe we should, y'know, get back to the mystery here?" 

"Oh yeah! Wasn't there one more person?" Pete asked. 

Gerard's eyes widened. "Of course! How could I have forgotten!" He smiled and looked like he had started daydreaming. 

"He's having a gay moment." Pete said, smirking. 

Gerard snapped back to reality. "I can't help it when people are hot, Pete!"

"Exactly!" Brendon nodded, grinning at Ryan. 

Ryan groaned. "Can we just. Save the last person? Who is it, anyways?" 

Gerard grinned. "We return at midnight." He paused. "Okay, maybe earlier than midnight. I get tired easily. Then we save the final victim." He turned to Ryan. "Hey, Ryan, we can crash at yours until then, right?"

Ryan eyed Brendon warily. "Sure."

"Okay. Then we sneak in tonight." Gerard announced. 

"I'm in!" Brendon declared. 

"Alright." Pete nodded. "Sounds good to me."

"Will he ever tell us who the last person is?" Patrick whispered to Pete. 

"The rest of us already know. Well, I don't think Ryan does." Pete shrugged. "Let Gerard be gay in peace. You'll find out tonight anyway." 

Patrick nodded. 

"Alright. Come in then." Ryan sighed, purposefully stepping away when Brendon strolled inside. 

"We ride tonight!" Gerard yelled, pumping his fist in the air and following Brendon. 

Pete pulled Patrick in after him, then found himself immediately barraged with "The phone takes pictures?".

He smiled. Okay. This was going to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you in the summary. Brendon is gay.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew returns to the museum for probably the final time, I decide to write a super cheesy feelsy part for no reason, and some serious shit goes down at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No really it gets feelsy I promise

After a few hours spent at Ryan's (mostly filled with Patrick demonstrating his basic technological knowledge to an amazed Brendon, and Pete trying to stop him from showing Brendon fanfiction), the small adventuring party (or something like that) made their way up the museum steps. 

"My legs hurt." Brendon complained. 

"You haven't used them for thirty-two years, of course they hurt." Ryan snapped at him, and Brendon frowned. 

"Why does Ryan hate Brendon so much?" Patrick asked. 

"Oh, don't worry about it, Patrick." Gerard replied. "I think he's secretly in love with Brendon and just overwhelmed. He's totally loving all this. I mean, if you started trying to kiss Pete constantly, I get he'd be like that too."

"I-what?" Pete sputtered. "I would not like that! I mean, I wouldn't not like that, it's just-" He made some violent hand gestures. "I wouldn't want...well, I mean...he isn't, though!" He turned to Patrick. "Right?"

Patrick laughed. "I could."

"No! I mean!" Pete sighed. "Let's talk about how gay Ryan is again."

Ryan huffed. "Well, I think _you're_ the one in denial."

Pete glared at him. 

"Chill!" Gerard said. "You're both super gay and you're both in denial, so drop it! We need to go in!"

Pete shot Ryan another look and then turned back to the museum. "I got this."

He knocked twice. 

"Hey!" A voice yelled from inside. "Is this a 'knock on the museum door and run away' prank again? I swear to god! I will-"

The door opened, revealing Andy, looking angry. 

"Oh." He said. "Hi Pete. Hi Gerard. Hi Patrick, nice to see you again. Ryan? Haven't seen you in forever, man! Oh, and, um...Brendon? Nice to meet you. I'm Andy. I'm the night guard here, and since the quote unquote 'robberies' lately, the day guard too."

Brendon waved. "Yep! It's me! Nice to meet you, Andy!"

Andy held the door open. "I'm guessing you're heading for the rock hall, I did my research. Those security cameras have conveniently broken for exactly forty-five minutes, and I accidentally left the lights on in that hall only. Oops, my mistake. And don't steal any statues." He winked. 

"Thanks, Andy. Don't know what we'd do without you." Pete grinned. "And no statues will be stolen."

Andy gestured them inside. "Alright, I'm heading back to the front desk. Go do the things and save the people."

Pete grinned and led the rest of the group inside. They reached the rock hall really quickly, and Pete led them into the guitarists section. 

"Alright. I've never actually been in here, so spread out?" Pete said. 

"I know where we're going!" Gerard announced happily, running down the hall and stopping near the end. "C'mon!"

The rest of the group followed. 

"Alright." Ryan said when they reached the exhibit. "Who is this?"

Gerard gasped. "How could you not know?"

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, rock isn't my thing."

Gerard crossed his arms. "This is Frank Iero, guitarist for the one-hit-wonder Black Eyes, an 80s rock group that became famous for their song Who Killed Sally, a ballad of sorts featuring a basic story about a murdered teenage girl. How do you _not know_?"

"Well, someone's gay." Ryan muttered under his breath. 

Gerard shot him a look. "Alright, we need to figure out if it's really him. Hm." 

Gerard moved to examine the probably-not-a-statue. He looked it up and down, then went to move the sleeve of the leather jacket hung loosely over its body. His fingers lightly brushed the wrist, and suddenly he was on the floor with a very much alive Frank Iero on top of him, looking around wildly, and then staring down at the plastic guitar he'd been holding, which had broken in two when he'd landed on it. 

"What the fuck." He said, standing up and looking around again. "What the actual fuck. Where am I? Who are all you people?" He paused and pointed at Brendon. "Wait, actually I know you. But who are you other people? How'd I get here? Are you the ones that kidnapped me? If not, who are you? Is this a museum?" He pointed at Pete's phone, which he was holding loosely in his hand. "What's the rectangle thing you're holding?" Then he turned to Gerard and pointed at his white vans. "What are _those_?"

"Did he just inadvertently mix two memes?" Ryan whispered to Pete. Pete laughed. 

"What's a meme?" Brendon asked. 

"No. Seriously. What?" Frank asked, looking around one more time. 

Gerard sighed. "Alright, let me explain-"

Pete interrupted him. "Wait, where's Patrick?"

He'd only just noticed that Patrick had disappeared sometime before Frank had woken up. 

"Oh. I don't know." Gerard said. 

Pete sighed. "I think I know where." 

"Okay. Let me explain all this to Frank, okay?" Gerard asked. "Go look for your boyfriend or whatever."

"He is _not_ my boyfriend!" Pete yelled and spun around, leaving the rock hall as fast as he could without any actual physical exertion. 

"It's a river in Egypt!" Ryan called after him. 

"Pot and kettle!" Pete yelled back. 

He made his way through the main hall, which was dark, because Andy had only turned on the lights in the rock hall. They hadn't expected to go anywhere else. He pulled out his phone again and turned on the flashlight. 

Pete shone the light ahead of him, walking a very familiar path. In no time, he was in the jazz singers hall, and he found Patrick exactly where he'd thought he would. 

Patrick was sitting in front of the area he'd been in for thirty-two years up until yesterday, listlessly kicking at a candy wrapper on the floor, one arm wrapped around his knees. The other hand was loosely gripping a flower someone had left. A blue carnation. With a pang, Pete realized that he'd left that one last night. Patrick also somehow had a fedora on again, and Pete realized it was one of the ones people sometimes left at the exhibit, to honor Patrick's fedora obsession or something. 

"Patrick?" Pete called out, and Patrick looked up at him. In the light of his phone flashlight, he could see Patrick had been crying. He bit his lip. 

"The phone has a flashlight, too?" Patrick asked, rubbing his eyes with his carnation-free hand. 

"Uh, yeah. It does." Pete nodded and walked down the hall to Patrick, sitting next to him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Patrick said, kicking the candy wrapper again. An AC vent across the hall blew it back every time. 

"You sure? It doesn't look like nothing. You've been crying." Pete said, turning to Patrick. 

Patrick sighed. "I read it. The exhibit thing about me? They're all dead, Pete. My family. They all killed themselves because they thought I was dead. Well, I wasn't!" He angrily kicked the wrapper again. It didn't come back this time, it flew too far to the left. "I was right here, in this stupid place the whole time! Do you think they stood here before they all died? Do you think they came here and looked at me? Probably. I was right in front of them and they didn't know and now they're all dead!" Patrick dropped his head onto his knees and started crying again. 

"Oh." Unsure what to do, Pete put a hand on Patrick's shoulder. "Hey, hey, it's fine. They didn't know, they couldn't have known. No one knew, Patrick."

Patrick took a deep breath. "Yeah, that's the thing! No one knew! I was just...here, and no one knew! Did they not care enough to look?"

Pete sighed. "Patrick, there were search parties out for you for _five years_ after you disappeared. They cared. Just...no one ever thought you'd be, y'know, a statue, right? And even if they did know, they'd need the amulet to wake you up. And I had it." He pulled out his amulet again. "So it wouldn't matter either way."

Patrick looked up from his knees. "I don't think I was meant to wake up. I think whoever kidnapped me wanted to keep me here forever. I don't know why there would be a way for me to wake up then, but there was. And honestly, I think I would prefer to still be in that exhibit."

He dropped his head back down and started crying again. 

Pete gulped. He was not good at talking to people. So he just pulled Patrick into his arms and hugged him. Patrick shifted and buried his head in Pete's should, still sobbing. 

"Um." Pete took a deep breath, unsure what to say. "Hey, hey, 'Trick. It'll be alright."

Patrick looked up and stopped crying. "What'd you call me?"

"Um...'Trick?" Pete replied. "I just shortened your name, I don't know why, it's fine if that's weird, sorry, I do that sometimes." 

"No, no, it's fine." Patrick said. "It's perfectly fine. I like it. It's cool. Call me whatever you want." 

Pete sighed. "Right. Good. Okay."

Patrick sniffled again and sighed, burying himself deeper in Pete's shoulder. 

"You alright now?" Pete asked. 

Patrick nodded into his shoulder. 

"Alright. That's good." Pete said. "Glad you're not upset anymore. I know it's terrible, I know, but I'm glad you're-"

Pete was cut off because suddenly Patrick was _kissing him_. Pete's eyes widened, but then he closed them, and just let himself be in the moment. With a jolt, he realized that Patrick Stump, the real actual Patrick Stump, who had disappeared 32 years ago, who was his favorite singer ever, was alive and kissing him. 

Yep. Okay. This was okay. 

"Called it!" Gerard's voice broke the moment, and Pete pulled back, startled. "Ryan, ten bucks."

"I didn't mean it when I said 'sure' when you said 'I'll bet you ten bucks they're kissing in the jazz hall', I swear!" Ryan said, annoyed. 

"Ten bucks." Gerard repeated. 

Pete and Patrick both turned to face everyone else. Gerard was holding out his hand, and Ryan was grudgingly handing him ten bucks. Brendon was clinging to Ryan's arm, which Ryan did not look happy about, and Frank was standing awkwardly to Gerard's left. 

"Um." Pete squinted, as Gerard was shining a flashlight in his face. "Hi?"

Patrick squeezed his eyes shut. "That wasn't embarrassing at all." 

Ryan laughed. "Oh, it totally was."

Pete got up, and dusted off his pants. "Shut up."

Patrick got up too, frowning at Ryan. "Yeah. Shut up."

"Oh, and we're all on guard duty." Gerard said casually, as if Ryan and Pete weren't silently feuding. "I asked Andy to check on Mikey. I haven't seen him all day and our house is only a few blocks from here. He was happy to go check."

"Oh. Okay." Pete grinned. "Good thing no statues have been stolen." 

Everyone laughed (except for Frank, who didn't quite get the joke), and then Gerard's phone rang. 

"Oh, it's Andy." Gerard said, looking at the screen. 

Frank stared at his phone. "What the fuck is that?"

Pete rolled his eyes. "Every time, I swear." 

"It's my phone." Gerard told him, then answered the call. "Hello!"

"I still don't understand iPhones." Patrick whispered to Pete. 

"Don't worry, I don't think anyone else in the 21st century does either." Pete whispered back. 

"Oh." Gerard said very loudly, and Pete looked up, seeing that his face had fallen. "Right. We'll head over, then. You can come back and guard again. Thanks."

He hung up and turned to look at everyone else. "Andy says he's checked the whole place, and there's no sign of him. _Mikey's missing_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! If you're reading this, this is the last chapter where you _don't_ know who the villain (aka the kidnapper from 1984) is! So I'm interested. Who do you think it is? Tell me in the comments!  
>  I've already written the next chapter and the big reveal is at the end of that, so guess now. I'll upload chapter 6 in one or two days, depending on how much I want to keep you in suspense. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bIG REVEAL that should've been obvious, honestly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one wanted to guess who the villain was. Rude. 
> 
> Well, here you go. I waited THREE WHOLE DAYS, you guys. 
> 
> The next chap. will be really long yikes but here have this

Everyone was now making a mad dash for the museum door. Gerard was running in front of everyone else, pulling Frank behind him (which Frank did not seem to be enjoying), and everyone else was awkwardly speed-walking behind them. 

"Slow down!" Pete yelled. "You'll dislocate Frank's arm or something!" 

Gerard slowed and let everyone catch up to him and let go of Frank's arm. "Fine. I'm just worried."

Frank rubbed his arm. "Ow. Don't ever do that again, thanks." 

"Come on, then!" Gerard said. "What are we waiting for?"

They made their way down the streets of Chicago, still awkwardly speed-walking. Pete fell back from the rest of the group, and in a second Gerard fell back to join him. 

"Hey." Gerard said, breathing heavily. 

"Uh, hi." Pete said, looking over to Gerard, who had a serious look set onto his face. 

"Sorry about interrupting your...moment earlier." Gerard said. 

"Oh. Um. It's fine." Pete muttered awkwardly. This was the last thing he wanted to talk about. 

"No, it's not." Gerard sighed. "That was a jerk move. And I'm sorry." 

"Well. Apology accepted, I guess?" Pete replied. 

Pete looked up at Patrick, who was excitedly talking to Frank and Brendon (Pete hoped it wasn't about fanfiction), who had his arm slung over Ryan's shoulders, and for once Ryan wasn't trying to get out of it. Good for him, Pete thought. 

"He really likes you, you know." Gerard said suddenly, and Pete's eyes snapped back to him. 

"What?" He asked. 

"Patrick." Gerard elaborated. 

"Um." Pete said. "Really?"

"Oh my god, are we teenage girls?" Gerard rolled his eyes. "Yes, really. He's staring at you right now."

Pete looked ahead again to see Gerard wasn't kidding. Patrick looked forward as soon as Pete looked up at him and resumed talking to Brendon. 

"Well." Pete muttered. "That's...great."

Gerard raised an eyebrow. "What, did you think he was just kissing you as friends or something?"

"Okay, shut up." Pete said, pushing Gerard. 

Gerard laughed. "Oh my god, you did, didn't you?"

"He was upset!" Pete insisted. "I don't know what people considered normal in the 80s!"

"Certainly not kissing your friend of the same gender when you're upset." Gerard said, smirking. 

"Shut. Up." Pete glared at Gerard. 

Gerard looked ahead, then said, "Oh! We're almost there!"

"Well, then let's go rescue and/or find your brother." Pete said, happy they were off their earlier subject. 

"Yes." Gerard said, moving to the front of the group. "Let's do that."

They reached the house within a minute; it was a small, one story house painted white, but only because Mikey and Gerard could never afford to paint it a different color. Pete knew this because sometimes they'd complain about it for no reason. There was a dying attempt at a garden in front of the house, on both sides of a small gravel path to the door. The lawn was already dead. 

Gerard walked down the path and, for some reason, knocked. There was, of course, no answer, so he took a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door, heading in. 

Everyone else followed, and Brendon and Ryan squeezed awkwardly through the small door frame, because Brendon still refused to take his shoulder off Ryan's arm. Ryan still didn't seem bothered by that. 

Gerard flicked on the lights to reveal, as Pete had expected, an empty house. 

"It doesn't look like he was even here." Pete commented as he looked around the living room. 

"But the car was parked out front." Gerard frowned. "So he came here. But nothing's been touched. That can't be right."

"Maybe he left." Patrick said. 

"No, unless he was binging Netflix, he'd never just not text me for a whole day, especially if he was going somewhere." Gerard sighed. "And he was obviously not binging Netflix."

"Netflix?" Frank and Brendon asked at the same time. 

Patrick grinned and Pete elbowed him. "Don't even think about it."

"Okay, so maybe whatever futuristic 'text' thing you do broke." Frank suggested. 

"I still don't know what texting is." Patrick whispered to Pete. Pete rolled his eyes. 

"No, he'd at least text me when he got home!" Gerard insisted. 

"Maybe there was no...whatever you use to connect your phones these days. Do you still use Internet?" Frank asked. 

"Yeah, we do." Gerard said. "But he would've had wifi, even if the Internet wasn't working for some reason." 

"Wifi?" Brendon asked. 

"Personal Internet. Just...don't make me explain." Gerard sighed. 

"Oh, cool." Frank said. 

"Yeah, cool, but I want to know where Mikey is!" Gerard said, crossing his arms. "This is a nightmare."

"We could check his room?" Pete suggested, hoping to keep Gerard from full on attacking Frank. 

"Oh. Yeah. I'll do that with you." Gerard said. "Everyone else can...talk, or something."

"Oh. Okay." Patrick said. 

"Let's go, then." Pete told Gerard. 

Gerard nodded and led him down the hall. They passed two doors on the left, then at the first door on the right, Gerard stopped. "Alright. Here."

"Oh, before we go in." Pete said. 

"Yes?" Gerard paused with his hand halfway to the doorknob. 

"I never found out. If Patrick and I have the amulet, and Brendon and Ryan have the ring, then how'd you wake up Frank?" Pete asked. 

Gerard pulled up the sleep of his jacket, revealing a gold band around his wrist with a sparkling yellow gem that looked slightly less like cheap plastic than all the others' gems attached to its middle. "I found it when I was cleaning Mikey's room a few months back. I figured he wouldn't mind if I took it. It's kind of been a good luck charm for me."

"Huh. Cool." Pete nodded. "Carry on, then."

Gerard nodded, and swung open the door to reveal a dark bedroom. Dark...but for the light of the computer on the desk. 

"His computer is on!" Gerard exclaimed, running over. "And it's on...a page about some manager?"

Pete frowned and followed Gerard across the room. "What?"

"No! Not just some manager!" Gerard grinned as he scrolled down the page and looked up at Pete. "His name is Mark Warren. This guy was a free-lance manager, and guess who he managed?"

"Um...John Cena?" Pete asked, not knowing what to say.

"Shut up, you meme fucker." Gerard rolled his eyes. "No! He managed Patrick, Brendon, _and_ Frank!"

"What? No way!" Pete gasped, and followed the page as Gerard scrolled, seeing he was right. "Whoa. That's...whoa."

"Yeah! I think we just found the connection between the disappearances of three stars under not only different genres, but different record labels! It's this guy!" Gerard grinned. 

"So where is he now?" Pete asked. "Maybe we can talk to him. Maybe he knows something."

"No." Gerard shook his head. "He disappeared, too. One week after Brendon. So really, it was four disappearances, not three, and each a week apart. But no one talks about Mark, because who would know him? He's just the manager. It's the stars that everyone cares about."

"Yeah." Pete nodded. "But maybe we can find him...Google 'Mark Warren last seen'."

"Good idea." Gerard nodded and did as Pete had said, then clicked the first result. It led to some article titled "Mark Warren, Disappeared Manager, Spotted?" 

"Spotted?" Pete frowned. "When?"

"Um...this article is from two months ago." Gerard said. "Hey, there's a picture. The article says he was apparently seen in Chicago. Hang on."

Gerard clicked the link to the picture, which was in a separate file (amateur), and it loaded in a separate page. 

"Hey, wait a minute." Gerard frowned. "That's a picture of _Mikey_."

"What?" Pete looked, and yeah, it was. It was a picture of Mikey in a grocery store, wearing sunglasses and lugging around shopping basket full of assorted items. "Maybe...maybe Mikey looks kinda like Mark? Then they could be mistaking him for some disappeared manager, right?

"Yeah, I'll look up a picture of Mark." Gerard nodded and typed "Mark Warren images" into google. 

Pete looked away for a second, letting his eyes wander around Mikey's room. The walls had a weird wallpaper pattern of squares, and one to the right of the computer and up a little bit was colored a slightly darker blue than the others. Pete went over to inspect it, intrigued. 

"Uh, Pete?" Gerard said, staring at the computer screen, wide-eyed. 

"Yeah?" Pete asked, squinting at the off-color wallpaper square. 

"Mark doesn't look kind of like Mikey." Gerard replied quietly. 

"No?" Pete practically pressed his face to the wall, and noticed hairline fractures around the outside of the square. He frowned. That was weird. 

"No." Gerard shook his head. "He looks _exactly_ like Mikey."

Pete poked a finger into the square as soon as Gerard said that. " _What_?" 

The square pushed inwards, and suddenly a section of wall next to it pushed inwards and slid to the right, opening a doorway to a tunnel that was lit by dim blue wall torches. 

"What." Gerard said, gaping at the hole in the wall. 

Pete turned to the computer and saw that Gerard had been serious. Every picture of Mark in google images looked exactly like Mikey. 

Pete looked from the hidden doorway to the computer screen and then back, and inhaled sharply. " _No_."

Gerard looked up at him, eyes wide. "I think we have to accept that there's only one explanation to this." He stood up from the computer and moved to stand next to Pete, staring into the tunnel entrance. He took a deep breath and let it out. "Mikey _is_ Mark."

"Well, shit." Pete whispered. 

Suddenly, there was a hand over his mouth. Pete turned to Gerard, and saw that whoever had was covering his mouth was covering Gerard's mouth, too. 

Gerard stared at Pete with wide eyes, and Pete stared back. He tried to scream for help, for anything, really, but it was muffled by the hand over his mouth. 

"Sorry." Someone whispered from the darkness behind them. "But you know too much."

Something hard hit Pete on the side of the head, and the last thing he remembered before everything went black was wrapping his fingers loosely around his amulet, falling to ground helplessly, and thinking, _Well, shit, now I'm going to die. Hopefully he doesn't hurt Patrick._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P L O T T W I S T  
> he was literally gone like the entire fic though so idk not really


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of exposition so it all makes sense (kind of) and Gerard is Freaking The Fuck Out™.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's always aliens, kids. 
> 
> I choose to explain all this crazy shit with the Roswell crash of 1947, so go ahead and look that up if you don't already know what it is. I'll wait. 
> 
> And also: for the first time, it's not in Pete's POV! Well, the very first bit isn't. Hello, Patrick's POV. 
> 
> Patrick's POV will be utilized again at the start of Chapter 8, but then we'll be back to good ol' Pete. 
> 
> Okay, that's all for now. Enjoy!

Patrick's head snapped up from the phanfiction (he'd ventured into a new fandom) he was reading on Gerard's laptop, which he'd found unlocked on the coffee table. It was a total crack fic, and he'd been really into it, but now for whatever reason he couldn't keep reading. His fingers flew to stroke his amulet out of instinct, and he couldn't figure out why. 

"Something's up." He said, still fingering the green jewel. 

Brendon, Ryan, and Frank looked up at him. 

"What? Why do you say that?" Ryan asked, frowning. He was sitting on the couch, and Brendon had flopped himself across his lap lazily. 

"Yeah, what's up?" Frank asked, looking up from staring at the TV from the old armchair that matched the couch's worn blue fabric. 

"I don't know." Patrick shook his head, and looked down at the amulet. He felt like it was trying to tell him something, but he didn't know what. "But...something's wrong. I think..." He took a deep breath. "I think Pete's hurt, or something."

"But why?" Brendon asked, shifting in Ryan's lap to look up at Patrick. 

Patrick just held up the amulet. "I don't know, but it has something to do with this thing...I just _know_."

"Okay, creepy magic shit is happening." Frank said quietly. "Because I'm totally getting it now." 

He was looking down at the golden band around his wrist, as if he was trying to win a staring contest with it. 

"Well, I'm certainly not." Brendon commented, looking warily at his ring. 

"Maybe it's because Ryan's fine." Frank said. "Patrick's worried about Pete, and I swear something's up with Gerard, but Ryan's right here. So. Hence the nothing."

"That's it. I'm checking on them." Ryan said, standing up. Brendon was thrown off his lap, landing hard on the living room floor. 

"Ow." He muttered, then looked up at Ryan. "I'll come!"

"No, I don't want any of you three possibly getting hurt." Ryan shook his head, then looked to Brendon and said, "Especially you."

"Aw, you do love me!" Brendon said, grinning. 

"I'm not admitting to anything." Ryan said smoothly. "Okay, I'm going in. If I'm not back in ten minutes...well, then Brendon'll know, right?"

Brendon nodded. "I can do that!"

"Good. Hopefully they're fine." Ryan sighed, then walked down the hall and into Mikey's room without another word, closing the door slowly behind him. 

"I'm worried." Brendon immediately announced. 

"We all are. He'll be fine." Patrick said, trying to sound comforting. 

"Yeah. Of course." Frank nodded, sinking back into the armchair and kicking his legs leisurely. 

"In the meantime..." Patrick grinned. "Who wants to read fanfiction with me?"

~*~

Pete blinked his eyes open to bright light. His ears rung for a few moments, but then it stopped. Then his eyes adjusted to the light, and he saw he was strapped to a metal table in some sort of futuristic lab. And not just something Brendon would say was futuristic; actually futuristic. 

He turned his head to the left and saw Gerard, still unconscious, strapped to another table. Then he turned to the right and saw Ryan. 

"How did I get here?" He voiced aloud, and almost as if he was being answered, he remembered. He remembered what he and Gerard had found, and being knocked out. 

Well. Shit. 

"What?" 

Pete turned his head to see Ryan was awake, blinking. 

"Oh, hey Ryan." He said, waving as much as he could with the restraints over his wrist. 

"What the fuck is this place?" Ryan asked, looking around. 

"Some sort of lab?" Pete replied. 

Suddenly, he saw Gerard move jerkily out of the corner of his eye. He turned just in time to see Gerard's eyes snap open.

Gerard took a sharp breath, then screamed, "Mikey!"

"Uh." Ryan said. 

Gerard's eyes widened. "Oh. Right. Oh, no. No no no no no nO NO _NO_!"

He slammed a fist at the table and flailed wildly. "No, this cannot be happening! I swear...I swear..." He was breathing heavily now, and he stopped flailing. 

"What's up with him?" Ryan asked. 

"Long story." Pete sighed. "But it involves Mikey in a...not so good way."

"Did he die?" Ryan asked. 

"Oh, fuck, I _wish_." Gerard replied, still hyperventilating. 

Ryan frowned. "Gerard just said he wished Mikey was dead. What the actual fuck is going on?"

Gerard scrunched up his nose in some sort of disgust. 

Pete sighed again. "Well, see...it's a bit weird, and I still don't fucking understand it whatsoever, but Mikey-"

"Is right here, and desperately wants you to shut the fuck up, so _please_." Someone interrupted from the shadows in the very front of the lab-place. Unsurprisingly, Mikey stepped forward into the light. 

" _You_." Gerard hissed. "Do you...do you have any fucking idea what this is like for me? Like, what the fuck. What the actual fuck is going on."

"Hi, still confused!" Ryan waved as much as the strap over his wrist would allow. 

Mikey turned to Ryan. "Yeah, I'll explain later. For now..." He turned to Gerard. "How much do you know?"

Gerard glared. "Enough to know that you're a fucking jerk."

Mikey rolled his eyes. "Yeah, tell me something I don't know. No, really. How much?"

Gerard took a deep breath, still glaring. "Okay, so I know that, somehow you're a manager from the 70s and 80s, which, what the fuck? I literally grew up with you, you're my brother...right? Um. Anyway. And I'm about 99% sure the kidnappings and museum statue thing were all you."

"More than I thought." Mikey nodded. "Yeah, me. Genius, right?"

"No, not genius." Gerard replied huffily. "Weird and quite possibly psychotic."

"Okay. What the fuck?" Ryan spoke up. "Just. What."

Pete groaned. "Please just get to the explaining part already, because in the movies when the villain explains his master plan, the other main characters arrive to rescue their friends."

"They won't." Mikey said, seeming assured of his proclamation. "You've all been gone, oh..." He glanced at his watch. "Thirty minutes? Twenty-five? No need for worry. Who knows what the fuck you're doing?"

"Oh, they will." Ryan hissed. "They're actually really worried. I was only in the room in the first place room to look for Pete and Gerard." 

Mikey frowned. "No, that's not right. You came in after they'd only been gone maybe five or so minutes. Why the fuck would you be worried then?" 

Pete watched a look of guarding pass over Ryan's face as he simply replied, "Gut feeling."

Pete decided Ryan was probably lying. Mostly. 

"Hm." Mikey frowned. "Well, then."

"No. Really. Explain-y part, please?" Pete asked. 

Mikey flashed a honeyed smile, which was just so _un-Mikey_ that it was scary. But then again, did they really know him at all anymore?

"Oh, of course." He nodded. "So, it started with a meteorite."

"Fucking aliens, man." Gerard interrupted, then said, "Sorry, continue."

Mikey sighed. "Roswell. 1947. You may have heard of it. I was in town."

"Nineteen-fucking-forty-seven?" Ryan interjected. "How were you even-" He sighed. "Continue."

Mikey rolled his eyes. "I was staying in a small cabin my family owned. When the ship crashed, or at least the supposed ship, a meteorite landed outside the cabin, and naturally, I checked it out."

"Well, I mean, naturally." Pete shrugged. Gerard and Ryan glared at him, so he shut up. 

Mikey continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "It contained gems of all colors. At first I thought it was a cheap prop, because they all looked...fake. Plastic-like. You know where this is going. But no. They weren't. I was a scientist, the first time around." He pursed his lips, and Pete decided not to question what 'the first time around' meant. He felt he already knew, anyways. "I examined them. I soon discovered they could, in a way, control time...for an individual. See, I discovered with certain stones, I could do many things. Some could turn back or forward time for someone. Some could be used for rudimentary time travel. Some could stop time for one person." 

He paused, as if to give time for them to catch up. Pete did catch up, hands trying to reach, and unable to, for the amulet still hanging loosely around his neck. No _way_. 

"So, naturally, I fucked around." Mikey shrugged. "Decided 'hey, I'll make myself a kid, get adopted, and pursue that managing dream I had as a kid and never fulfilled'. So I did. But, here's the thing. If you're a closet musician who manages famous musicians, you get jealous. You start to hate them."

"You did not hate _Patrick_!" Pete gasped. "That's, like, physically impossible or some shit!"

Mikey frowned. "As I was saying. You start to hate them. _All of them_." A pointed glare at Pete at this pointed. "And what better way to get rid of them than to get rid of the three most famous ones that you can ultimately get to any time you want, because hey, you're their manager, and to do the one thing that leaves no evidence; donate a few mysterious statues to the local wax museum."

" _No_." Gerard whispered, then raised his voice. "No, you can't just...no!"

"And can you guess what I did next?" Mikey asked, grinning slightly maniacally, in a way that made Pete shiver. 

"You...oh god." Gerard muttered, voice shaking. "You...you probably waited it out a few years. Then you...did your alien tech age reversal shit and got yourself adopted again, into a new family. You grew up with them in Chicago so you could keep an eye on the museum. You..." Gerard breathed in sharply. "Oh god, that's why you wanted Dad to take the job here. You were...well, relatively speaking...five, and I couldn't understand why you cared so much. You charmed Mom and Dad into it, _oh_." Gerard inhaled sharply again. "Mom and Dad never said you were adopted. I would've never known."

"We literally look nothing alike. Are you kidding?" Mikey snorted. 

"I mean, he's right." Pete said. 

"Not. Helping." Gerard hissed. 

"Okay, question." Ryan spoke up, and everyone else turned to him. "Hi. Okay. So if the gems do all that shit, then why do you have two? If it can reverse it, why have it?"

"I needed to." Mikey shrugged. "You need two, because it only works as a reaction between them. Another reaction reverses it and for good, because now those two gems are spent, as you three probably know by now. I hid the extras where I thought no one would ever find them. Well. I thought wrong, apparently."

"Are you sure that's all they do?" Ryan asked. 

Pete frowned. That had been unexpected. 

"Um...yes, why?" Mikey asked. 

"No reason." Ryan shrugged. 

"Well." Mikey grinned. "It's been fun, but I have three clueless people to kidnap again. Bye!" 

"Wait!" Gerard yelled, but Mikey was already gone, out a different way than he'd come in. Gerard sighed in defeat. "Well, we're all fucked and I've been lied to my entire life. Great."

"Don't worry. It'll be fine." Pete assured him. 

That was when he heard a scraping grinding sound and a loud yell of, "I told you! I told you, see? Fucking magic! Or something!"

Pete's eyes widened at the voice, coming from the way Mikey had entered. " _Patrick_?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. That's how I'm explaining this. 
> 
> I only have 2 paragraphs of Chapter 8 written because #procastion soooo 
> 
> Yeah. Hopefully I'll keep writing.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it!  
> I wrote it!  
> After procrastinating for over a month, I did it. 
> 
> You all have Autumn to thank for this. 
> 
> Here's the final chapter. (It has come to my attention that this is in present tense and chapters 1-7 are in past tense I'm sorry I'm v v inconsistent)
> 
> The end. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Patrick knew Ryan had said not to go back for him. He knew they were probably all in danger now. 

Well, fuck that.

Brendon had practically thrown himself out of his seat, screaming that _holy shit, Ryan's gone, something happened, we need to help him, please,_ and so they'd all immediately set off to Mikey's room. 

Now Frank and Brendon are marveling at the size of the computer on the desk, and Patrick is resisting the urge to tell them that there are smaller computers than that. Instead, he's staring at an expanse of wall because he felt like his amulet was practically _screaming_ at him to _look at the wall, right there, yes, that's it, you need to look there!_

"Is this wall strange for the time period or something?" He asks Frank and Brendon, frowning. 

"Uh, you've been here longer than us." Frank points out. 

Patrick sighs and looks a little closer at the wall. Then he sees it. One of the squares in the blue wallpaper design has hairline fractures around the edges. 

"Hey, guys." He says, frowning at it. 

"Hm?" Brendon asks, looking up from punching random things into Google. (The search box currently reads "dear Google do I need to sacrifice something for you to work for me". Patrick realizes Brendon had no fucking idea how Google works.)

"I think I found a button." Patrick announces. "Or it's magical. I dunno. Is magic real in 2016?"

"I doubt it." Frank shrugs, walking over to look. 

"Huh." Patrick reaches forward and presses a finger on the square, and it pushes back. Then the whole wall suddenly moves inwards and slides to the right. 

"Oh, shit. Whoa." Frank whispers, eyes widening. 

"Nice!" Brendon grins and gets up out of the office chair at Mikey's banged-up wooden desk. 

"I told you! I told you, see? Fucking magic! Or something!" Patrick practically yells, grinning. 

"Probably not, but I bet Gerard, Ryan, and Pete are in there." Frank says, stepping towards the doorway.

"In we go." Patrick says, walking through the door. 

Brendon practically prances in after him, and Frank follows him a bit more warily. The door slides violently shut behind them. 

"Okay. Not ominous at all." Patrick mutters. 

They continue on through the dimly-lit tunnel, and Patrick swears he feels his amulet pulling him along. Frank and Brendon aren't saying anything, but they probably do too, with their respective gems. 

Then they reach a door. It's large and made of silvery metal, but it looks thin and flimsy. Patrick frowns and presses his hands onto it, managing to push it aside. 

It reveals a small, brightly lit room. And in the room are three metal tables, and on the tables are Pete, Gerard, and Ryan. 

Patrick grins. "Found you!"

~*~

Pete is overjoyed to see them. Mostly Patrick, but sure, Frank and Brendon are cool too. 

"How?" He asks, and the one word makes up an intricate question that Patrick must understand, because he just grins and holds up his amulet. 

"Hm, I think I had a bit of help." He says. 

"Okay, you two, we get it. You're really fucking gay. And I'm really fucking _stuck_ , so help?" Ryan asks, shifting a bit in his bindings. 

"Oh!" Brendon practically tumbles past Patrick into the room. "Got it!"

He proceeds to run his hands quizzically over the table until he hits a small button, which he presses. The metal straps open up and Ryan gratefully hops out. 

"Thanks." He says, actually smiling at Brendon. Brendon might have melted. 

"Hey, still stuck over here?" Gerard says, raising an eyebrow. 

"Uh, yeah. Same." Pete says, struggling uselessly against the straps. 

Patrick rolls his eyes and strolls over to Pete, and Pete sees Frank run over to Gerard. 

Patrick finds the button with ease, and Pete's restraints fly off. He grins and launches himself into Patrick's arms. 

"Whoa! Hey, I'm shorter than you!" Patrick protests, pushing Pete off. 

"So?" Pete asks, grinning. 

"So I just probably saved your life. Do I get a thank you?" Patrick asks.

Pete smirks. "Oh yeah."

And he kisses Patrick, which seems to surprise Patrick at first, but then he leans into it, and they kind of just stand there.

Pete's half-aware that Brendon and Ryan are making out on one of the metal tables (it's kind of like the start of a bad porno).

"Hey, uh, everyone else is kissing?" Gerard says awkwardly, rubbing his arm where it's sore from struggling against the binds he'd just been released from. 

"Might as well." Frank shrugs, and leans in to kiss him. 

" _Excuse me? I leave for one minute and now everyone is making out?_ "

Pete jumps, knocking foreheads with Patrick, who whirls around to face Mikey, rubbing his forehead. 

"You're back." Pete says simply.

"Yeah, and I don't appreciate you escaping." Mikey says, crossing his arms. "How'd _they_ even get in here? I went to get them, and I couldn't find them, and now they're in here?"

"Is magic real in 2016?" Patrick asks. 

"No." Mikey rolls his eyes. 

"Huh." Patrick nods. He's holding onto Pete's arm with a death grip right now, and shaking. 

Pete sighs. "Get out of here."

"Nope, it's my lab. You should get out." Mikey narrows his eyes. "Wait, no. I forgot. _I don't want you to leave. Ever._ "

Pete's the one holding onto Patrick's arm now. "They talk about evil exes, but..."

"This place is so. Cool!" Brendon suddenly says, grinning. "Does everyone have labs in the future?"

Ryan sighs. "No, Bren. Just creepy mad scientist guys who have alien artifacts and kidnap a bunch of gay people."

"Are there a lot of those?" Brendon asks. Ryan rolls his eyes. 

"Seriously. Let us go." Gerard hisses, glaring at his (adopted, what the fuck) brother. 

"Mm, why should I?" Mikey asks, smirking. 

"Because I called the police." Gerard announces. 

"No you didn't." Frank says. 

"Yes I did."

"We would've heard you doing it."

"I did!"

"Then when did you?"

"Before!"

"You didn't.

"I did!"

As if on cue, police sirens ring out from outside. 

"Fanfiction logic." Patrick says.

"What?" Pete frowns. 

"Having called the police but no one heard you do it. That's the kind of logic fanfiction uses." Patrick shrugs as if it should be obvious.

"Who even let him into the fanfiction?" Ryan asks. 

"I only showed him Supernatural, I swear!" Pete insists exasperatedly. 

"Yep, that's enough to get you into the fanfiction." Gerard points out, shrugging. 

"Shut up. All of you." Mikey says. 

"Actually, you shut up! Because you have the right to remain silent!" 

Everyone turns to see a police officer with short brown hair pointing a gun at Mikey. Mikey raises his hands into the air. 

"Woah, woah, sir, this is all a big misunderstanding." Mikey tries, smiling awkwardly. 

"Babe, don't fall for this one again." Another officer says, sighing as he steps through the still-open doorway. This one has a frighteningly bright pink Mohawk-like haircut that kind of surprises Pete. Is he really a police officer?

"But. He said it was a misunderstanding." The first one says, frowning. 

"Yeah. So did every criminal ever." The pink-haired guy slings an arm around his partner (in the police force and outside of it, Pete guesses.) 

"Okay. Got it." The first officer turns back to Mikey. "Keep your hands up." He sighs. "Uh, you brought the handcuffs this time, right?"

"Of course." The second officer grins. "I only forgot them with those two mass murderers."

" _Exactly_." The first one sighs. 

The pink-haired officer strolls over to Mikey and takes a pair of handcuffs off his belt, which he proceeds to use to fasten Mikey's hands behind his back.

"So." The first officer holsters his gun, because his partner has already held his own up to Mikey instead. "You said he kidnapped you and strapped you to these tables, right?"

Gerard nods. "Yeah. That's what happened."

The officer sighs. "That must've been crazy."

Ryan laughs. "Crazier than you would ever believe."

"I believe that, seeing as there are three dead musicians among you, but I dunno." The officer points out, shrugging and grinning at them. 

"Wait, what?" The pink-haired one double takes and his eyes widen. "Oh, shit! Ty, we have! Our vinyl collection, they. What? They're alive?"

"Josh. Chill." The first officer (is Ty short for Tyler? Pete guesses it is) rolls his eyes. 

"Uh, yeah, I'm alive." Patrick shrugs, and turns to Frank and Brendon respectively. "How about you guys?"

"Yep!" Brendon nods. 

"Is life even real?" Frank asks. 

"Stop being existential." Gerard sighs. 

"Huh." Josh looks conflicted. "Well. I'll arrest this guy."

He pulls Mikey back up the tunnel, frowning. 

"See you at the station, babe! Troye brought in the donuts you like again!" Tyler calls after him. 

"Sick!" Josh calls back, his voice fading away as he presumably makes his way out. 

"Well. That was interesting." Tyler laughs and turns back to them. "I'm assuming some of you would like to avoid being seen in the police station?"

Patrick laughs. "Yeah. How many of your officers like us?"

"Hm, well there's me and Josh, of course, Troye has a middle-school crush on Brendon, Melanie has written up the script for a play detailing her and Patrick's wedding, and..." He laughs. "Then there's Hayley, who will punch anyone who speaks against Frank."

"Wow. I feel defended." Frank says, raising an eyebrow and laughing. 

"Your friends have good taste." Patrick grins. 

"Yeah, but that means I have to go and fill out a shit ton of paperwork, so bye!" Tyler smiles at them and waves as he turns to run back up the tunnel. 

Now that the six of them are alone, Pete just looks around and says, "Huh."

"Yeah." Ryan agrees. "Huh."

"Very huh. Much yeah." Gerard adds.

They all look at each other and burst into laughter. 

"Oh, it's a meme!" Patrick realizes, grinning. 

"A what?" Frank frowns. 

Pete laughs harder. 

~*~

The sunset is nice tonight. 

That's why they're standing in front of Pete's window and watching it. Patrick is leaning his head on Pete's shoulder and smiling. 

"I'm sorry I can't really pay rent." Patrick says suddenly. 

"Hm?" Pete raises an eyebrow, frowning. 

"I can't exactly get a job, because they might know my name." Patrick explains, sighing. 

"You could get it legally changed." Pete suggests. 

"Is that any easier nowadays?" Patrick asks, frowning. 

Pete shakes his head, looking down. "Uh...no, not really."

"Hm." Patrick leans more into his side, and the light catches his amulet, still dutifully hanging around his neck. 

"Uh, you know how it is easy?" Pete says, and he realizes, oops, he can't go back on this now. Well then. 

"Um, no?"

Patrick stops leaning into Pete and turns to look at him. "No, I don't. Do tell."

"Marriage." Pete says, and oh god, _he totally just did that._ Whoops.

"Pete." Patrick says, raising an eyebrow. "Are you asking me to marry you?" 

"Uh. Yes?" Pete says, biting his lip. This was a bad idea. 

"Isn't that illegal?" Patrick frowns. 

"No, actually. Not anymore." Pete laughs nervously and shakes his head. 

"Huh. I guess I shouldn't completely doubt the world." Patrick grins. 

"Since last summer." Pete adds, and Patrick sighs. 

"Okay." He rolls his eyes. "Doubting the world again."

"So." Pete clears his throat. "Um. I kind of didn't really mean to ask that, so I don't have a ring or anything, but y'know, if you wanna. Like, for the purposes of legally changing your name or something. Y'know. Or. If you just want to get married."

"Shut up, you idiot." Patrick grins. "Of course I do."

"Oh. Really?" Pete asks. 

Patrick laughs and leans forward, kissing him. He leans back again, still grinning. "Yeah, you idiot."

"Oh my god. We are going to get _married_." Pete grins. "Oh, we can totally invite, like, obviously Ryan, Brendon, Frank, and Gerard, but, I mean, Andy has to come, he's great, and I wonder if they'd let Mikey out of prison for a little?" His eyes widen. "Oh, and the gay cops!"

Patrick laughs. "Whoa, chill. And wait. What _is_ your last name? I just need to know I'm not getting a shitty name or anything."

Pete rolls his eyes. "Wentz."

"Ooh, that's kinda cool." Patrick looks thoughtful. "That's nice."

"Yeah? You're gonna be Patrick Wentz?" Pete asks, wrapping an arm around Patrick's shoulders. 

"Only for the legal name change." Patrick jokes. 

Pete laughs. "Oh, come on. It's not _that_ shitty a name."

"No, it really isn't." Patrick leans into his side again. 

Pete smiles as the sunset washes over them against the city skyline. He likes this. He likes _them_. 

And nothing could possibly go wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it. 
> 
> That's the end. 
> 
> Thank you all for sticking through to the end. 
> 
> I know it was cheesy, I'm a hopeless romantic at heart. 
> 
> And wait. There's more. That is, if you want. 
> 
> That's right. Anything that ends with "Nothing could possibly go wrong" just has to have a sequel. It's the law. 
> 
> If you want it, tell me and I'll start writing, I guess. 
> 
> So here's to the first chartered fic I ever actually completed. 
> 
> Thank you so much. 
> 
> xoxo Abby :)


End file.
